


Me In Your Sweater, You Said It Looked Better

by Yikes_Writes



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Billy Hargrove Being an Asshole, Billy Hargrove Tries to Be a Better Person, Cheating, Depression, Hurt Steve Harrington, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, References to Depression, Steve Harrington Needs a Hug, at least in the last one, the cheating au from tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:15:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26351011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yikes_Writes/pseuds/Yikes_Writes
Summary: One of Billy's sweatshirts goes missing.A study on cheating.
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 10
Kudos: 185





	Me In Your Sweater, You Said It Looked Better

**Author's Note:**

> this was multiple parts on tumblr
> 
> -
> 
> Follow me on Tumblr [@yikesharringrove](https://yikesharringrove.tumblr.com/)!

It was Nancy all over again.

Steve doesn’t know how he didn’t see it coming.

Big blue eyes trailing somewhere else, trailing to _someone_ else.

He was kidding himself, coming to California with Billy. Following him like a lost puppy to a place made of sunshine and gold, where beautiful people must grow on trees. Where Steve’s pale skin and Indiana conservative shyness kept him indoors, out of the sun, in a _shirt_.

And Billy’s eyes began to flit away from Steve, towards better, _prettier_ models.

And he’d have to come home every night, and curl up next to Billy, and lay there as Billy fucked into him, and groaned in his ear, and told him _so beautiful for me, Stevie._

And Steve would pretend he didn’t see the napkin in Billy’s jeans pocket, some guy’s number scribbled on it with three little _x’s._ And he would pretend that Billy wasn’t getting home later and later. And he would pretend that Billy’s twinky, pretty boy coworker _wasn’t_ wearing Billy’s worn Metallica sweatshirt. The one Steve likes to steal with the hole near the collar and the bleach stain on the hip.

But it was hard to pretend.

Hard to pretend when Billy just _stopped_ coming home, stopped fucking Steve, stopped _looking at him_.

And when that sweatshirt never came back, when another one went missing, when a few t-shirts, Steve _really_ couldn’t pretend anymore.

He waited until Billy was at work.

Because ultimately, he’s a fucking coward.

He didn’t want to see him, didn’t want to face him.

He doesn’t know why he came to California in the first place.

Doesn’t know why he didn’t just stay in Hawkins, where he knew his role in the food chain, where it was _easy_.

So he packed his shit.

And he left Billy’s remaining sweatshirts alone.

Even though he wanted _one_ , just fucking _one_.

One to remember all the _pretty boy’_ s and when Billy lent him his denim jacket and licked over his bottom lip and said _looks better on you anyhow_ and how _warm_ Billy’s palm had been against Steve’s thigh as they drove like two little bats outta Hell towards the west coast.

But he _didn’t_.

Because with all those reminders came the _other ones_.

Came the reminder of Billy leaning against a counter, flirting with a diner waiter before he noticed Steve returning from the bathroom, came with Billy calling other boys _pretty_ , came with Billy saying the wrong name during sex, whiskey on his breath.

So Steve left his things alone.

And he tucked tail.

And he left.

He took a bus to Nowhere, Colorado.

Used his dad’s credit card to buy a hotel room.

And he laid on the bed for two days, crying to himself about _everything_ , wondering where it went wrong, what _he_ could’ve done to save it.

The next two days were spent in a rage, raiding the minibar and getting blackout drunk.

 _He_ didn’t do anything wrong, _he_ didn’t cheat and lie and _pretend_ -

But he _did_ pretend. Pretended that Billy still loved him, pretended that he was one of the pretty boys Billy would flirt so publicly with.

When he finally got back, returned to his parents’ empty house, Billy hadn’t even called.

-

“Steve?”

 _Fuck._ His cover was blown.

Steve sighed deeply, turning around to smile nicely at Max, taking of his sunglasses.

She hugged him around the middle.

“I didn’t know you and Billy were visiting.”

“Uh, well, it’s just me.” Her face faltered.

“How long are you in town?”

 _Ah, shit_. He’s just gonna have to give it up.

“Indefinitely.”

“Fuck. What did he do?” She looked resigned to this, like maybe she _knew_ it was coming.

“It’s a little bit easier to say what he _didn’t_ do.” She huffed darkly.

“I’m gonna kick his ass. What an _asshole_!”

“Look, it’s, uh, it’s _fine_. You know? I guess we just weren’t, meant to be, or whatever.” He shrugged, trying to keep passive, _casual_.

“It doesn’t _have to be_ fine, Steve. You _know that_ , right? Like, you’re allowed to be mad at him.”

“Oh, _believe me_ , I’m mad. I just, I’m trying to move on, I guess. It was _good_ , you know? Like, we had a lot of good times, but it just, _fizzled out_.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek, brows drawn.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, Max. I’m alright.”

-

But _apparently_ , she hadn’t taken his word.

Which is _why_ he was sitting on the phone with _he who shall not be named_.

“Max told me to apologize.”

“Well, then, thank you for the sincere apology that came _direct_ from your cold, dead heart.” Steve licked over his teeth. It kinda felt _good_ to talk to Billy, let him know _just_ how badly he fucked up.

“Look, I _am_ sorry. You started pulling away, and I was _lonely_.”

“Oh, do _not_ give me that _shit_ , Hargrove. I only pulled away because I couldn’t _lie_ to myself anymore, not when you started fucking _drinking_ and calling me the wrong fucking _name_.”

“Steve, that was _twice_ -”

“That’s _two too many_!” He slammed the phone down onto the hook, breathing hard.

Maybe it _wasn’t_ nice giving Billy a piece of his mind, maybe it just made him want to curl up in bed and _keep crying_.

Maybe it made him want to put his fist through a wall.

Because it was _not_ his fault.

Not his fault that he _kept on_ choosing the _wrong people_ to love.

Not _his fault_ nobody ever loved him back.

But this was a fucking _pattern_ , beginning with his shitty parents that couldn’t give two shits about him, continuing with his shitty friends that ended up fucking him over, and finishing on the only two serious relationships he’s ever had.

The whole thing just makes him feel fuckin’ _worthless_.

He picked the phone back up.

“Hey, you busy?”

He didn’t want to stew, had been sitting up to his eyeballs in pity and sadness for the past few weeks.

He wants to _live_.

“Buddy! Hey!”

Dustin was the best place to start.

-

Billy had always expected a fight.

Steve was too fiery, too _passionate_ for anything else.

So when he came home, no Steve, no Steve belongings, no note, he was actually, genuinely _shocked_.

Steve wasn’t the type to give up on things.

But Billy doesn’t actually _know_ what he’d do with a fight. He can’t fight for Steve, not after the mess he’s made-the _messes_ he’s made.

He _knows_ Steve is sensitive to cheating, and maybe that’s why Billy did it, knew he’d get a rise out of Steve.

He had been depressed in California. It was easy to see.

He had no friends, worked a shitty job that he hated, did _nothing_ but sit in the apartment.

So really, Billy was doing him a favor, pushing him so hard he went back to Hawkins.

Any other breakup would’ve left Steve _completely_ alone in California.

And now, as Max is yelling at him through the receiver, perched lazily on his knee, he can’t help but feel a little, _relieved_.

Steve’ll be happier in Hawkins.

Never shoulda left in the first place, really.

-

Steve was _fun_.

He was always so bright, so _happy_ , and just relaxed to be around.

He drew Billy right into his easy charm, his lazy smiles.

He had good weed, good booze, and a good ass.

Pretty much a perfect combination.

And so they start hanging out, and fucking, and kissing a lot, and Billy’s not sure when the lines got blurred for _Steve_ , he just remembers all of a sudden being referred to as _Steve’s boyfriend_ and they’re holding hands, and Billy’s still having sex on the side, still going out to clubs in the city to find some bitch to ride him all night long.

And then Steve’s looking at him like the sun shines outta his ass, and Billy _does_ care about Steve, and _maybe_ he could love him? Honestly, Billy’s not too sure he believes in love in the first place.

But then Steve shows his hand, stops faking smiles when he doesn’t want to. Shows Billy the sides of himself he doesn’t _like_ , and every time Billy sees him after a six-day-funk, unshowered and _sad_ , he has this _look_ in his eyes, this look like a fucking kicked puppy, and what’s Billy supposed to do? Dump him?

But then Steve worms his way into the Camaro with a packed duffel bag and a box of hair products, and they make out in roadside motels, and Billy keeps his hand on Steve’s thigh all the way to California.

And then they’re in California, and Billy reconnects with his old friends, his old haunts. 

And Steve stays cooped up all the time, too nervous to explore the area by himself, too self-conscious to take his shirt off at the beach, too tired to go to bars with Billy.

It’s _exhausting_.

And Billy starts drinking.

He starts going out more and more, _hating_ their little apartment that gets dingier by the day, Steve too fucking _depressed_ to clean it most days.

So he starts sleeping over at different peoples’ houses.

Which means going to bars, picking up a desperate twink, and staying at his for the night.

It’s not a perfect system.

But it _works_.

And Billy doesn’t hide it, comes home with hickies, and doesn’t bother trying to cover for himself when he slips and says the wrong name in bed with Steve.

And _finally_ , Steve takes himself home.

And Billy can whore himself around like he had _planned_ for his return to California.

And sure, he should’ve handled it better.

Had a frank discussion with Steve before they even left Indiana.

But no one has _ever_ accused Billy Hargrove of being _mature_.

And maybe a tiny part of him _does_ feel bad, as Max is yelling at him for the tenth time this week.

And maybe when he finds one of Steve’s old t-shirts, he keeps it around, keeps it tucked in a drawer so it never gets taken by someone else.

-

Steve was breathing hard.

He hadn’t exercised much (at all) back in California. Just didn’t have the energy.

He was jogging slowly down the street, the air cool, the sky beginning to lighten up.

He had taken to forcing himself on these jogs, found they helped him _think_.

He had no career in Cali. No prospects or future.

He had just gotten a job at a library and spent all day avoiding customers that might ask him for a recommendation he couldn’t give.

So now he needed to _focus._

He had ruled out a few career options.

Doctor, lawyer, politician, whatever the fuck his dad does.

He thought about the military, nearly laughed out loud at the idea.

He didn’t really want to go back to school, if he could avoid it.

In the meantime, he bagged groceries for Joyce at Melvald’s, went on his morning runs, and spent evenings with Dustin, watching television on the couch.

He had stopped drinking.

 _Hated_ it after tasting it on Billy’s breath so many times.

So they drank pop, and Dustin complained about high school, and it was _nice_.

And Steve’s jogs became _easier_ , and he was promoted to cashier, worked the register next to Joyce’s.

And one day, when he was talking with her in the backroom, he realized he hadn’t thought about Billy for a whole _week_.

-

“They’re just growing out so _weird_.”

The one thing Steve had appreciated about California was the way the sun lightly bleached his hair, made the lighter gold pieces a little honey blond.

He had _tried_ to get highlights professionally done, and they were _not good_.

“I don’t know why I stopped doing them myself, they looked _way_ better.” Dustin rolled his eyes, getting _sick_ of Steve obsessing over his hair.

“Why don’t _you_ just learn how to do it professionally.” Steve furrowed his brows at him.

“What, like _beauty school_?”

“ _Yes_ , like beauty school. You love hair shit. You’d have fun.” Steve considered him.

He _would_ have fun.

Plus, he’s spent so long fussing with his own hair, he _understands_ hair, how it moves and grows, how best to cut and color taking that into account.

He _really_ doesn’t know why he didn’t think about it in the first place, it made _perfect_ fucking sense.

-

Steve was _giddy_ as he skipped into Melvald’s, pulling on his smock, hopping around to kiss Joyce on the cheek.

“Sweetheart! How was your first day?”

“Oh _God_ , Joyce. We didn’t even do anything, and I just, this is _it_. I _know_ it is.” She smiled brightly at him, her face falling as someone behind him cleared his throat.

And Steve’s heart sank when he whipped around.

Two years since he’s seen those blue eyes.

“You look good.”

Steve gave Billy a little half-smile.

“What are you doing here?” 

Steve began quickly scanning Billy’s items, wanted him _gone_. 

“Max. Graduation.”

God, Steve felt like an idiot. Why wouldn’t he _realize_ Billy would come back for Max’s high school graduation. 

“That’s nice of you. And that’s thirty twenty-six.” He didn’t look at Billy, just accepted the cash and made quick change. “Have a nice day.”

“Stevie-” Steve snapped his head up to glare at Billy. “Sorry, uh, Steve, can we talk? On your break?”

“Don’t know if there’s anything worth talkin’ about with you.” Billy chewed on his bottom lip. 

“I just want to explain. Apologize.”

“Yeah, well _last time_ we talked, you blamed me and _my mental health_ for your own shitty choices.”

“I know, that was fucked up. I was gonna apologize for that too. Just, for _all of it_.”

Steve huffed. 

Part of him _did_ want to hear what Billy had to say for himself. 

“Fine.” _  
_

-

Steve flopped on the bench outside half an hour later. 

He situated himself as far away from Billy as the bench would allow. 

“Go ahead. Apologize.”

“I really am sorry. There was just, there was _a lot_ I did wrong. I didn’t know how to break it off with you, and thought, maybe, maybe if I _really_ fucked up, you’d _leave_. Come back here.”

Steve scoffed, looking incredulously at Billy.

“if you wanted me out of the state you could’ve just gotten a fucking restraining order.”

“I think that, in my own fucked up way, I thought that was _best_ for you. Like, you _obviously_ weren’t happy in Cali.”

“I wasn’t happy _anywhere_ , you asshole! I have fucking _depression_! And now I’m fucking medicated, and I go to therapy and shit, but I still have _shitty_ fucking days, except _now_ , I get to add _your name_ to the list of people that smashed my heart and made me feel like trash when I’m _not_. I’m _not_ trash. I’m a human _person_ , and you treated me like _shit_ , Billy.”

Billy was staring down at his hands. 

“I know I did. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“That’s okay. You don’t have to. I just wanted to, to _tell you_ , I guess. I’m in therapy too. And anger management. Court-ordered after one too many bar fights, but still. And, uh, I’m eight months sober, too. I know you didn’t like all my drinkin’.”

“Look, I’m like _happy_ that you’re working on your shit, but I’m _finally_ at an okay place. I’m not gonna _take you back_ -”

“That’s not why I’m here. I don’t want you to take me back. I just wanted you to know that I regret how I treated you. And that it was wrong.”

“I didn’t need _you_ to tell me that.” Billy gave him a sad little half-smile. 

“I know.” He studied him. “Your hair looks good.” 

Steve had gone back to doing his own highlights. It was a little lighter overall, longer than Billy had ever seen it. 

“I’m in cosmetology school now. Gonna be a hairstylist.” Billy smiled at him. It made Steve’s gut tighten.

“I know you don’t care, but I’m proud of you. You’ve come a long way.”

“I, uh, I don’t _not_ care.” Billy huffed a laugh. “Thank you, Billy. And thanks for the apology.”

“Yeah, well you deserved it.” Billy clapped him once on the shoulder as he stood up. “Good luck, Stevie.”

“You too, Bill.”

Billy walked backward long enough to shoot him a two-fingered salute, his tongue between his teeth. 

Steve laughed as Billy retreated down the main drag, the dusk settling around Steve on his bench. 

Steve felt like a weight he didn’t even know existed had been taken off his shoulders. 

And he really did hope the best for Billy, hoped he stayed sober, and fell in love, and had a career he liked. 

“Hey! Billy!” Billy whirled around. “I forgive you!” 

Steve felt like he deserved to hear it. Thought maybe it would help him.”

He could hear Billy’s laugh all the way down the street.


End file.
